


always a little unexpected

by orphan_account



Category: Baby Mama (2008)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you learn to like surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always a little unexpected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ijemanja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijemanja/gifts).



> I hope this is something like you wanted! Originally I actually did set out to write femslash because I was really taken by the idea of these two together, but somehow it just... didn't end up like that. So I apologise and hope you like it anyway!
> 
> P.S I have no idea what Kate's baby's name was because a) idk if it was even given a gender and b) I was too lazy to look it up, so I made it a boy and called him James.

Angie is by far the most excruciating person Kate has ever met. She is wilful and ignorant and illogical and sometimes, just plain idiotic, but strangely, Kate warmed to her after a while. For all her unawareness she was very sweet and earnest, and Kate knew her heart was in the right place.

 

Which was confirmed when she abruptly unloaded three suitcases and a baby (in a carrier) onto the floor of Kate’s apartment for the second time, which is two more times than Kate ever thought she would be turning up on her doorstep like this.

 

“I think we should live together,” she says, like this is completely normal behaviour (though, she supposes, for Angie it kind of _is_ completely normal behaviour). “But this time no weirdo health nut rabbit food, okay? I don’t want my kid to grow up thinking people eat like horses or fancy dogs or something all the time.”

 

Kate doesn’t entirely know what to say, so she says the first thing that comes to mind. “You are _not_ raising your child on Tastykakes and Twinkies.”

 

Angie scoffs. “ _No_ , duh, it can eat McDonalds too.”

 

She thinks maybe it actually is a good idea if she stays in the same house as Angie for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So where’s whathisface, that guy who knocked you up. Jeff?”

 

“Rob. We, uh, kind of ended it, I guess,” Kate says, the moment still a little raw.

 

Angie looks up from playing with Stef on the floor. “Oh, jeez. Sorry, Kate, that super sucks.” She picks her chortling baby up, jiggling her on her knee.

 

“What about you and Carl?” Kate asks hesitantly, not entirely sure if she wants to know the answer.

 

“Carl’s in _jail_ ,” Angie replies, disgusted. “He got busted for stealin’ a bunch a cars, asshole—” she immediately covers Stef’s ears, “I mean, loser.”

 

“I’m guessing no baby visits for him, then.”

 

“Ass—losers who get done for grand theft auto don’t _deserve_ baby visits, but whatever. Who even needs them, right? We got these little rays of sunshine, right baby?”

 

Kate’s not entirely sure who in the room Angie’s talking to, so she just smiles and nods as best she can.

 

 

 

 

 

Her apartment’s really not the right size for the two of them plus two babies, so the corner of the living room becomes a nursery – Angie helpfully purchases a couple of ugly looking Japanese screens, or “swanky quick-change door things” as she called them to make it more of a room, but they never have anyone except Catherine over anyway so it makes little difference. The whole place is covered in baby blankets and bottles and worn out books about mothering, worlds away from the tidy apartment she was used to, but somehow it feels so much more like home now.

 

Angie wanders out of the bathroom in her underwear, brushing her teeth. “I had a thought,” she says, her words muffled by toothpaste foam that she narrowly avoids dripping onto the floor.

 

Kate pulls the blanket over James, running her hand over his tiny head before side-eying Angie, not entirely sure what to expect from her barely decipherable tone. “And?”

 

“Instead of this couch thing—hang on,” she disappears into the bathroom, spits, and comes back out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Instead of this couch thing, which is balls, it’s not more comfortable than it looks – in fact, it’s _less_ comfortable than it looks – we should both just sleep in your bed. It’s super big.”

 

 

 

 

 

From a logistics standpoint, agreeing with Angie made sense – they could actually use the couch as a couch and not worry about taking turns in the bed, and it meant she could actually push the other woman onto the floor to wake her up if one of the babies started crying. The only problem was, Angie, if possible, actually slept _worse_ than the babies. From her covers-hogging to her tossing and lack of respect of personal space to her clinginess, it was like sleeping with a hyperactive five year old.

 

At four in the morning after being kicked in the back of her knee by her bed mate, Kate’s finally had enough.

 

“Angie. _Angie_.”

 

“Whurrrgh. Whu—what?” comes the croaky reply, her head appearing from somewhere under the covers and halfway down the bed.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you and why can’t you sleep like a normal person?”

 

“I do sleep like a normal person,” Angie says, sitting up.

 

“You sleep like the devil on crack, is how you sleep. It’s like trying to share a bed with a spider monkey.”

 

“Really?” she sounds both curious and chastised, like she’s done something wrong only she can’t figure out how. “Sorry Kate. Maybe I made a mistake with the bed thing."

 

Kate groans quietly to herself. Why is she such a pushover when it comes to this girl? “No, Angie, it’s okay. Just... try to tone it down a bit, okay? Everyone at work is going to think I’m a victim of domestic violence if I’m not careful.”

 

Angie settles back down in the bed, and Kate can feel her breathing close to her back. It’s strangely comforting, to know there’s someone else in the world in the same position as her so nearby, and she wonders whether maybe, possibly, this might work out after all.

 

“Night, Kate,” her voice says quietly, slurred on the ends with sleepiness.

 

“Night, Squirrel.”

 

 

 

 

 

Kate’s sure having Angie around isn’t the best influence for her child, one morning she comes in and sees her chugging juice straight from the bottle while holding a packet of half-eaten Oreos – which Angie naturally tries to defend is a balanced breakfast because Oreos have carbs and the juice is “that gross shi—loser juice you get from work that tastes like you ground up old grass and beets in a blender” – but at the same time, it does mean she gets out of paying for a full-time nanny.

 

They buy a twin stroller and Angie tells her all about how she takes them for walks in the park, and quietly (“So the babies can’t hear!” she whispers dramatically), she tells Kate about the dudes she watches going on their morning jogs.

 

She teaches Angie to cook, tells her that maybe the ‘this next thing is probably wrong but I’m going to do it anyway’ approach can work for painting and putting together Lego sets, but maybe with cooking she should stick to the instructions, and eventually she finds herself coming home to mostly edible meals without having to make them herself.

 

And Angie takes her out sometimes when she can convince Oscar to babysit, teaching her how to loosen up and let herself have three glasses of wine instead of one and even one memorable time teaching her that there is more than one use for a detachable showerhead (plus a list of other things to do with ‘jerking off for ladies’ as she eloquently put it, though when Kate asked where the hell she learned some of that stuff Angie just gave her a sly grin and a very vague, “Oh, college...” before changing the subject).

 

 

 

 

It becomes routine, familiar, and soon she can’t even remember what it was like to not have Angie around the house. She thinks, just maybe, she really likes it.

 

“Do you think we could make our babies get married?” she asks, watching Stef crawl around underneath her mobile, cooing softly.

 

“What, now?”

 

“No, dummy, when they’re older.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Yes, just maybe.


End file.
